The Minister Tōru c. 1833

Curator: Ah, look at this, our listeners are in for a treat. We have before us "The Minister Tōru", a print by Katsushika Hokusai, dating back to around 1833. You get the sense, immediately, don't you, of a secret world held in ink? Editor: Yes, a world of muted tones. That salmon pink in the sky and the crescent moon feels very theatrical. A touch melancholy, even? Are those rooftops floating behind the figures or are they on an island? Curator: Indeed! The placement creates such an otherworldly ambiguity. As for the materials, this ukiyo-e print would have begun with Hokusai's designs transferred onto woodblocks, carved by artisans, then meticulously printed, layer by layer, by skilled printers, perhaps some were also watercolour, and others were ink. The labor alone, we should not underestimate that, when we view the final product. Editor: Absolutely. The process speaks to a collective artistry often overshadowed by the individual genius narrative, of say Hokusai, and that's an important point. I find the minister and his attendants here, though, less figures than…symbols? Hokusai is known for his landscapes; here people and place blur. It makes me feel suspended somewhere between this world and the next. Curator: It is an interesting dance. The historical context suggests it’s referencing Minamoto no Tōru, a Heian period aristocrat known for his elegance and poetry, evoking a kind of nostalgic longing. What appears so "effortless," is layered with a lot of intentionality, so that he might not just be depicting him, but rather the atmosphere or myth that lingers like incense smoke surrounding him. Editor: And in looking closer, there's this tension. High art ideals intersecting with the demands of a commercial print market—it invites contemplation about value, labor and consumption. And let's not ignore the role of these colored pencils and watercolors as commodity items, both in the moment of production, and for today's consumers in museums. Curator: And with all the detail it is, like an echo—all that materiality now just memory held in these marks. It begs the question, doesn't it, of how we conjure worlds from so little. Editor: It certainly does. It takes this one material and the creative process that builds around it.